Abstract
P>"Charles Lamb was not a poet or essayist or critic-he was a person." This, we are told by Mr. Priestley, was Sir Walter Raleigh's saying, and, given the indulgence due to an off-hand aphorism, it must be allowed to hit fairly closely the mark of Lamb's distinction. It may, of course, be taken merely to repeat what, during his lifetime and in the century now passed since his death, has been the burden of so much Lamb praise-his attractiveness as a man. If we except an incompatible like Carlyle, who went to Enfield solemnly seeking Truth, and, being teased with frivolous jests, saw only " a stammering tomfool," there is record of scarcely anyone who met Lamb and wrote of the meeting without mention of his charm. Those who were his intimates and knew the brave unselfishness of his life have spoken with a fervour almost unmatched in the chronicle of authors.
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